


Paint it black

by TheBrideOfTheWind



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Murphy, Bellamy kinda loves it, M/M, Murphy is a little brat, Nerd Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrideOfTheWind/pseuds/TheBrideOfTheWind
Summary: Bellamy and Murphy get into a fight over the last donut in the canteen





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this fandom needs another nerd Bellamy, cocky Murphy story, but at least I had lots of fun writing this ;-)

After learning the whole night, Bellamy couldn't be more tired. As he makes his way through the canteen, he hopes that he doesn't look as bad as he feels and that all the other students would magically disappear out of his way cause he can't see shit through his fogged-up glasses. Nothing would be worse than falling on his nose in front of everyone. Not that this would happen often. Maybe once or twice a month. He was a very committed student. And it was still freezing cold outside.

On his way to get some food he discovers with mild panic that there's only one of his favorite chocolate donuts left. But he's the closest to the counter and maybe, maybe this day is taking a turn for the better. He reaches out to grab the baked good and holds it up victoriously, as someone bumps into him and a small hand tries to wrestle it out of his fingers. His attempts to pull the donut from his opponent's grip fail and after a few seconds he gives up, but doesn't loosen his hold.

The bugging hands belong to a young man with longish brunette hair that looks as artfully disheveled as the rest of his whole outfit: tight ripped jeans and a black shirt that's unbuttoned so obscenely low it nearly reveals half of his pale chest. Bellamy gulps and looks up where he is met by the bluest eyes. Blue and grey like a stormy sky. The guy is even wearing eyeliner. And it suits him. 

Right now the look in those eyes reveals more murderous tendencies and the rosy lips are pulled into a malicious smile.

“Let go, that's mine,” the guy says, sounding bored and as if he won't have any argument. 

“It's as much mine as it's yours,” Bellamy retorts and the boy raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, apparently surprised he's talking back at him. Maybe his sinister demeanor is effective with others, but Bellamy's day couldn't get any worse. He's not willing to give up on this donut without a real fight. 

“It's mine. It was determined to be mine. Stop trying to discuss this with me. You're a politics major or what?”

“History.”

“That kinda fits, too,” the boy chuckles.

„Why?” Bellamy asks, because this kid, brazen and brash as he presents himself, kind of intrigues him.

“Because you look ancient. You're sure you're not doing archeology, too?”

“Dropped that one.” The confession earns him another chuckle. Bellamy huffs and takes a look at the others paint-stained fingers.

“And you?” he asks. “Educational sciences as an example for bad parenting?”

The guy doesn't look the slightest bit offended. As if it's an insult he's used to hear every day.

“Nah. Arts.” 

“Is this even something you need to study for?” 

“As much as smelling dusty, dirty books and reveling in the past is, apparently. And now give me that donut.”

“No.”

“But I really need it.” he nearly pleads, all eyes and quivering lips.

“And why is that?”

“Cause it's my breakfast.”

“It's 2 in the afternoon.”

“I painted the whole night. And classes barely start before 3. If I go.”

“Then take one of the others,” Bellamy says and nods to the pile of standard donuts to his right.

“No. Why don't you take one of them?”

“I don't like them.

“Me, neither.” he says and really has the nerve to bend forward and – Bellamy can't believe his own eyes – try to lick the pastry that's cradled safely between them.

“Hey! Listen, I had a really, really shitty night, just hand me over that goddamn donut!” Bellamy nearly yells, and some of the innocent bystanders are already craning their necks at them. He's slowly growing impatient and losing his temper. Who does this artsy wannabe rebel think he is?

“Make me,” he says provocatively, apparently unimpressed by his recent rant.

Bellamy sighs. This guy is really pushing for it. “I pay you 10 bucks.”

“No.”

“20.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on.” He seems to be quite pleased with himself. The smile and sparkly eyes look good on him though.

“I give you 30.”

“30 and a coffee,” art boy demands shamelessly as if it's self-evident that he is the one that calls the shots.

“OK. And now back off.”

“Money first.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. He lets go of his newly purchased donut warily, who knows if this guy is trustworthy enough or willing to elope with his property, deal or not. 

“Thanks,” the boy says surprisingly polite all of a sudden and delivers him the donut with a mournful expression. “I'm Murphy.”

He takes each of his chocolate smudged fingers into his mouth after and licks them slowly, staring at Bellamy from underneath his dark eyelashes. 

“I'm -” Bellamy stutters, dumbstruck and not sure if this is the best or the worst thing that has ever happened to him. 

The pretty boy, Murphy, is still looking at him, a wicked grin on his face. “Cat got your tongue?” he asks and winks. 

And yes, judging by the hotness in his cheeks and the way his heart flutters wild and fast like a hummingbird's wing, this really is the worst thing that has ever happened to him. And that says a lot for someone who studies history.

“I'm Bellamy,” he manages to produce a three-word phrase at least and stretches out his hand. That's progress. Rome wasn't built in a day, too. 

“You can let go of my hand now;” Murphy says, stifling a laugh. Bellamy looks down and it's true, he's still clinging to the boy's hand, knuckles white compared to the rest of his own darker skin. 

“Oh -” he utters under his breath and pulls back his stupid, traitorous hand. If his face wasn't burning already, most certainly it would be by now.

“See you around, bemused Bellamy,” Murphy says and waves at him. By the time the information reaches Bellamy's brain, he's already gone.

“You too,” he says to the empty spot where the boy stood mere seconds ago. He feels a little bit disappointed.

 

One week passes till Bellamy meets him again. They stand next to the counter where the donuts are on display, yet this time there are three chocolate donuts piled up, which should be enough for both of them and avoid all dispute. Murphy takes all of them. 

“Oh, you wanted one?” he smirks and looks up at Bellamy. He's wearing black ripped jeans with big holes on his knees this time, a white Henley shirt and a leather jacket. His outfit is completed by a ridiculous looking hat that sits on his brown locks. There's a small silver ring in his nose, he didn't notice the last time either. 

Bellamy tries to give him a withering look, but fails miserably. “Hm,” he grunts instead, but Murphy already offers him one of his acquisitions voluntarily. 

“Thanks,” Bellamy says, a little bit taken aback by this unexpected act of kindness. 

“I didn't lick them this time,” Murphy grins. “Though I can't say I haven't thought about it.”

“Basic human decency? I have to say, I'm impressed,” Bellamy scoffs. “I've looked at some of your art,” he mentions casually and Murphy raises a quizzical eyebrow. 

“Why that?” he asks.

“I was interested how all of this -” he gestures at the boy, moving his hand up and down, “- transfers onto canvas.”

“And?”

“It's quite...captivating, I would say. In a dark way.” 

Murphy grins. Most of the paintings Bellamy found signed by a J. Murphy were gloomy and sinister, but some of them surprised him with a palette of vivid colours, depicting surreal scenes or humans abstracted so far they were barely recognizable. Even those brighter paintings seemed to breathe melancholy though, were tinged with sadness.

“I read one of your essays, too,” Murphy admits. “Athens – the secret winner. How military defeat birthed a commercial power.”

“And I thought history is all boring, stale air and decay?”

“Yeah. I mostly looked at the photos.”

“There are no photos.”

“OK, I scrolled through it. Helped me sleeping that night.”

“Is your biting sarcasm as permanent as the paint on your fingers?” 

Murphy takes a close look at the colourful speckles on his skin for a second. “Hm, I think it's as permanent as the stick up your arse...”

“Your comebacks seem to evolve on a weekly basis.”

“I'm a quick learner, apparently.”

“You're just a prick.”

“Oh, come on. You know nothing about my prick.” 

Bellamy feels his cheeks heating up again, doesn't like the way Murphy can make him blush like a little school boy only with a few words.

“Come on bashful Bellamy, and sit with me,” the boy says and pats Bellamy on his back. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

It's more like watching a train wreck in slow motion, he thinks. But, alea iacta est*.

**Author's Note:**

> *The die is cast
> 
> I wrote this in a few hours, hope it's tolerable. Thank you for reading!


End file.
